Tell Me A Story
by ficlit78
Summary: Kate's POV.  She's usually such a strong person...


**A/N**: Spoiler-free, folks. Kate's POV. I don't own Castle.

**Tell Me A Story**

There was only one time when I allowed myself to be weak with him.

Normally, it wouldn't have even occurred to me. I'm usually so strong, too strong my father would tell you. I don't chip. I don't crack. I certainly don't break. Not for anyone, even those who insist they want me to feel comfortable around them. They mistakenly think that, if I'd simply trust them, I'd reduce into some waifish puddle of sentiment and appreciation.

Appreciation. Heh. Like I'm waiting around for the perfect person - male or otherwise - to come along and save me from myself, from my own stubborn fortitude. I'll be so damn grateful when they tear down my soft heart's walls, right? I'll weep with relief then they divest me of what must be acres of emotional baggage. Jesus. People can have such hero complexes, you know? I'm a woman, so on some level, I must just _ache_ for a champion to whisk me away from the exhaust fumes and dried blood and widow's tears that fill my days. I must long for a castle on a hill. For the ocean. For a white horse of my very own, complete with flowers in its mane. I must yearn for some kind of lazy opulence that only an indulgent millionaire doormat could possibly provide.

Such are the ideals little girls are taught to want.

But they're not mine.

This is the problem. I don't want someone to bust down my 'walls', or whatever. I don't want a hero. I don't want a patron either, who gives me the ludicrousness of diamonds, but not the sustenance of simple conversation. These are the stuffs of fairytales, not life. This is why I prefer John Mellencamp and not Celine Dion. He understands. She wishes.

But this case, man. This case we just closed, for some reason, it just knocked me down a little. If you asked, I couldn't give you a reason why this one struck me any more than dozens of others that had played out in the same way. Dead mother. Young children. The sad-yet-professional face I pull out of my arsenal and wear when I explain to a family that the most unfair, debilitating nightmare of life has chosen to befall them. 'Why' is one of those words I grow tired of. I don't know 'why'. I see where. Lanie tells me when, and usually how and with what. If I'm good at my job that day, I can suss out who.

But why? Damned if I can figure it out.

But this mother was my age. Her kids were under six. I saw their incomprehension when their father told another ancient fairytale. The one where mommy's up in Heaven and other people with wings and good intentions are keeping her company until they can all be together again. I sigh.

Later, I fall into my chair. My shadow sits next to me. Unlike most, he doesn't push too hard against my heart's walls. He chooses to study them. He likes them, I think. He finds them interesting.

Maybe, for that very reason, I lowered them in his presence.

"Detective," he greets quietly. He smiles, but it's one of understanding. He's not happy. Just sympathetic.

"Castle," I reply. My voice sounds so tired. I'm tired. I need something. Something to take me away from the exhaust fumes and dried blood, for just one damn second.

I drop my arms on my desk and rest my head on them, looking at his earnest face. "Tell me a story."

He blinks and cocks his head. I notice how his hair springs slightly around his forehead, its light brown, sandy color looking darker in the dim of after hours.

I give him a broken smile. "Cat got your tongue?"

He smiles again and begins to speak. I close my eyes. The boys and I may carry guns, but Castle's weapon is his voice. It's so rich with warmth and imagination that I wonder if he's taken allocution. But it's unlikely. There's too much joy in his words as he takes me away, far away, to a place on a hill near the ocean. There are dragons where he takes me. There are dozens of species of human-like creatures with scales and wings and four legs. There are heroes. And there are obstacles. There are oracles and bad choices and true love and fate. There's even a cat who steals tongues, becoming more eloquent with each theft. There's a realism and there is a light. There's a wind that sweeps through, keeping out the stench of death...and exhaust.

I fall asleep at some point. I vaguely register that someone picks me up and lays me down on something soft. I'm covered with something that smells like him. I hear my name in that voice and suddenly I'm dreaming there's a Kate in the story.

And Kate lives in a castle near the ocean, her white horse's mane fluttering in the breeze.


End file.
